ANAIS
by imperial-sun
Summary: The legend of Anais, a Dunmer woman whose adventure will be the greatest that the world has ever seen.


The creaking of wagon wheels and a gust of sharp, frigid air awoke Anais Drayven. Her eyes suddenly squinted in the harsh sunlight; with an attempt to hold her head, she realized her hands were bound. She was able to make out the form of a driver and horse leading the cart she was in down an icy road. Looking upward, the sun shone through the passing boughs of snowy pines and firs; the tall peaks on either side of their cart indicated they were going through a mountain pass.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake."

Anais's eyes fell back upon a blonde Nord sitting across from her. He wore a padded leather tunic swathed with a blue sash, dirty chainmail clinking underneath. She tried to respond, but her throat was parched and cracked after being out cold for so long.

"You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

He nodded to a skinny pale man with dark features sitting next to him, similarly bound. He had a look of annoyance on his face.

"Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell. You there—"

Anais turned her head towards the thief at his words after continuing to examine their icy surroundings. There were other carts behind and ahead of them, also containing people with the same garb.

"We shouldn't be here, it's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

The Nord looked at him derisively. "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

The driver moved his head slightly, obviously listening to the conversation. "Shut up back there!"

The thief was silent for a few moments, looking down at his bindings and then towards the final member in their little band. He was a tall man surrounded by dark furs with a head of sandy hair, but a gag tied over his mouth prevented him from speaking to any of them. He seemed disinterested in what they had to say. "And what's wrong with him?"

The Nord sat upright at the thief's careless statement. "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

The thief flinched slightly at the Nord's sudden outburst, but then his eyes widened in realization. "Ulfric, the Jarl of Windhelm? Wait, you're the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you…" Dread crossed over his face. "Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

The Nord was no longer looking at anyone, but instead straight ahead to where the road was taking them. His voice was low. "I don't know where we're going. But Sovngarde awaits."

The thief shivered in his seat. "No, this can't be happening…! This isn't happening!"

The Nord drew his gaze away from the road, pity overtaking him in place of his berating. "Hey, my name is Ralof. What village are you from, horse thief?"

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

The thief hesitated before speaking. "Rorikstead. I'm… I'm Lokir from Rorikstead."

Judging by Lokir's dark features and wiry frame, Anais wondered whether he was purely of Nordic origin.

She looked beyond their conversation and towards where the carts ahead were going. A large stony wall came into existence up ahead as they turned. Banners emblazoned with the Red Diamond hung from the large opening, and tall forts could be seen towering above the wall. As they approached, they passed a road sign labeled with a variety of towns Anais didn't recognize. The one arrow pointing towards the village ahead was labeled as Helgen.

A large number of soldiers in the same attire as the cart drivers were just beyond the wall in squads, their red and silver armor gleaming brightly in the sun. One of them approached a figure upon a horse stationed next to the soldiers, a scroll in his hand. "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!"

The figure on the horse nodded, pulling back the reins of his horse. "Good. Let's get this over with."

Lokir was audibly beginning to panic, praying quickly to all the gods he could think of as he shut his eyes tightly. Ralof gave Tullius a look of contempt as they passed by him, following suit with many of the other Stormcloaks in the carts.

"Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor," he spat.

Anais noticed a tall High Elf woman clothed in black stationed next to him on horseback, a look of annoyance on her pointed face.

"And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves, I bet they had something to do with this."

Anais threw Ralof a dark look, unfamiliar with what he meant by the word 'Thalmor'. Her gaze turned towards the village as they passed by Tullius and his men who were now collecting in front of one of the large stone towers she saw from far away. There was a fiery smell in the air of burning braziers, with the sound of horse hooves and sharpening weapons filling her ears.

"This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in." Ralof sighed, turning to Anais before his gaze fell. His expression shifted from nostalgic to bitter. "Funny… when I was a boy, Imperial walls used to make me feel so safe."

Silently, Anais turned her head towards the townsfolk who were congregating where the Imperial soldiers were. She noticed a boy standing on a porch outside a large inn nearby.

"Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?"

The boy's father appeared from beyond the door to the inn, leading him back inside. "You need to go inside the house little cub."

As they passed by the inn and towards the centre of town, Anais saw what they were going to be stopping soon for. A large hooded man was sharpening a huge curved axe with a whetstone, with Tullius and the High Elf standing close by. They were blockaded by many Imperial soldiers who stood ready at the first sign of trouble. Above them, the large stone tower loomed with another black and red Imperial banner attached to it, unstirred by the chilly breeze. Lokir opened his eyes, noticing they were no longer moving.

"Why are they stopping?"

Ralof didn't meet his gaze. "Why do you think? End of the line."

Other carts stopped next to them had more Stormcloaks getting off and milling towards where two single soldiers stood close to the carts.

"Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

He got up along with Ulfric and Lokir; Anais followed suit, eyeing the size of that very-lethal-looking axe being sharpened.

"No! Wait! We're not rebels!" Lokir exclaimed, his voice shaking.

Ralof turned his head towards him, looking like the opposite of the frightened thief in his resolute expression."Face your death with some courage, thief."

Lokir looked at Ralof with exasperation, then elbowed his way towards the front of the large group of Stormcloaks to explain the problem to the two Imperial Soldiers; one with shoulder-length brown hair and the scroll who was just speaking to Tullius, and an Imperial captain with a steel helmet as hard as her expression as she surveyed the ragtag group. She turned towards her comrade.

"Get ready to start marking off names, Hadvar. Step forward when we call your name!" Ralof sighed, rolling his eyes. "Empire loves their damn lists," he muttered under his breath.

Hadvar unrolled and examined the beginning of his scroll before looking towards everyone. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

Ulfric stepped forward, his face hidden from the others. He stood straight, not acknowledging the two soldiers as he walked towards where other Stormcloaks were being directed to in front of an ominous chopping block.

"It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric!" Ralof called.

Hadvar looked down his list, calling out the next few names. "Ralof of Riverwood. Lokir of Rorikstead."

Lokir looked at the two soldiers in horror. "No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" In a split second decision, he bolts past them and flees for the road leading out of Helgen.

The Imperial captain was taken aback by Lokir's idiotic move, but was at the ready. "Halt!"

She motioned to her battalion as he kept running. "Archers!"

A single arrow embedded itself into Lokir's upper back, and with a thump he fell to the ground. She turned around to face the Stormcloaks not yet called.

"Anyone else feel like running?" She barked.

No one said anything as Lokir's body laid still.

Hadvar looked at the list once more, but then looked at Anais who had been running through a list of scenarios on how she could get out of this mess. "Wait, you there."

Anais looked at Hadvar, meeting his gaze. "Step forward. Who are you?"

Anais could respond with a million different things as she walked towards him, her shining black hair messy and tangled. Her grey skin was dirty, but her striking red eyes drowned out her tousled appearance. She decided that no information was best.

Hadvar looked at his list once more, checking for any Dunmer. "Another refugee? Gods really have abandoned your people, Dark Elf."


End file.
